Brandy's
by Sheryl Nantus
Summary: A bartender and a drunk...


Please Archive Anywhere... grin... 

All Characters copyright of TenThirteen Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement intended on any part... go ahead, take me to court...I'm using the insanity defence... heh, heh, heh... 

Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@goodmedia.com 

Summary: A bartender and a drunk...Spoilers: The Drive...Rating: G, story... fluff... 

Author's note: I've used Brandy's a few times in the Dragon stories as a local pub - just to reference the name and title... 

Brandy's (1/1)by Sheryl Martin 

I've pretty well seen it all after so many years of tending bar. Especially this one, which fills up with Fibbies and cops hiding out from the real world as long as they can. 

No reporters here. No television either, just the jukebox with songs that I choose. None of that popular crap either, just golden oldies. 

Tonight I'm serving one of the locals a few shots of tequila. His drink, you see. 

Spooky's drink. 

I don't know his real name, don't even call him Spooky out loud. But I hear what the rest of them call him when he's not looking, so in my mind I call him that. 

Beats Fibbie No. 42. 

Anyway, he's on his fifth shot of the hour and looking kinda peaked. Then he looks up at me with a lost look and says, "I watched a man die a day ago." 

I refill the shot glass. I've heard this story too many times to not know what he needs. 

And if he can't have that, then a shot of booze will have to do. 

"I watched his head explode behind me." The voice is slurred as he tugs at his tie; pulling it free from his neck. "It blew all over the window." 

"Gunshot." I say with a bit of a question tossed in for good measure. 

He snorts tequila out of his nose, cupping his face as he laughs for a few minutes. Then he raps the glass, waving at me for a refill. 

"She tried, you know. She tried to save him..." He mumbles into the bar, drawing his finger along the edge of the wet glass. 

"Who?" I ask, wiping my hands on a towel. 

He looks up at me in surprise, like he didn't expect anyone to listen to him. 

"My partner." He begins to tap the empty glass on the bar rhythmically. I'm a bit slower to refill it this time. 

"She's too good for this crap. She should be somewhere else." He doesn't notice my lack of speed. Just as well. 

"You..." His eyes stop at my wedding band still on my left finger. "You're married..." 

"Widowed." I jerk a thumb behind me at the picture of Angie on the register; her arm around me at the Wall. 

"Oh. Sorry..." 

"Not your fault." My throat starts to close up, like it was only yesterday. "Cancer. Been five years now." 

He shudders like I've touched him with a live wire. When his eyes open again, he stares at me for a long time; not touching the drink, just spinning the glass in his hand. 

Reaching for a bowl of peanuts he takes a handful, popping them into his mouth between words. 

"Did you ever think... I mean, do you ever wonder..." Shaking his head, he gets it right the third time. "Do you think that at times you held her back? I mean, from what she really wanted to be; to do?" 

I scratch my head at that one. Usually I'm on the other side of this sort of talk. "I dunno. She loved me, so I didn't ask. Don't think I ever had to, to be honest. She would have told me." I look back at the picture. 

"My Angie was a good woman. Took better care of me than I deserved." 

He nods. "I hear you." Emptying the shot glass again, he goes for another refill, putting his car keys up on the bar before I have to ask. I appreciate things like that, so I was a bit faster this time with the bottle. 

"She's too good for this shit. She deserves better..." He was mumbling to the glass again, but I didn't dispute the relationship. 

"Your partner sounds like quite the woman." I do a little trolling, hoping to catch something. 

His nod is quick and eager, if not a little lopsided. "A helluva woman. Scully is..." A hand wave in the air before landing hard on the bar, narrowly missing the bowl of nuts. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me... I don't know what I'd do without her..." 

He stares behind me into space. "I've been there and I hate it..." 

"Have you told this little lady how you feel?" I pick up another glass, drying it with the towel. Slow him down a bit before he starts crying. I hate criers. 

Spooky looks at me like I'm from another planet, rolling his tongue around his mouth and tipping the glass again to collect the last few drops before answering. "Nah... she deserves better..." 

Refilling the shot glass, I shrug. "Could do a lot worse, bud. I've seen a lot of characters way worse than you walk outta here with women who were almost as good as my Angie. Don't sell yourself short." 

He nods again, eying the bottle beside my hand. "Maybe I'll tell her. Maybe it's time." 

Moving the bottle a few inches away, I put my hands on the bar and lean forward. "Listen - I know better than most of you guys about fighting. Knowing you've got something or someone to come home to is what keeps you going, especially when they try to break you. You gotta grab this little bit o'heaven when you can, because it might be gone before you know it." I felt the familiar lump in my throat. "I keep thinking about what I'd do if I had only one more day with her. I..." Turning away from him, I get ahold of myself. No one likes a blubbering bartender. 

"Maybe..." Spooky mumbles behind me, sounding like a broken record. 

"Mulder..." The strange voice brings me around quickly from my thoughts. 

The redhead was a looker, no doubt of that. If I had been ten years younger I'd have considered it. As it was, the wolves gathered in the corners were checking the fresh meat out until they spotted the pistol outline under her jacket and backed off. 

"Mulder..." She repeats, coming right up to the bar and to Spooky. Scowling at me reflexively, she taps his arm. "Time to go home..." 

I tally up the bill quickly, watching his bemused expression as she helps him count out the cash; including a generous tip. 

I hand her the keys with a nod. "You must be his partner. He's been having a rough night." 

She nods, rubbing his arm as he leans against the bar in a first attempt to get off the stool. "He's had a few rough nights. Thank you for taking care of him." 

I shrug. "It's part of the job. Though he'd have had a helluva cab fare getting home from here." 

"Here..." She places a card on the bar. "Next time he's like this, give me a call..." She pauses. "It won't be too often, I think." 

"Nah. He's not the type." I look at the nicely embossed card. FBI Agent Dana Scully. 

Maybe it's time indeed. 

Tucking it into my top pocket, I nod. "No prob." 

She nods back, running a hand over his head as he rests it on the bar between attempts to stand. "I know... it's okay..." Murmuring to him, she puts one hand around his waist, urging him towards the door. 

"Come on, Mulder - if you call in sick tomorrow Kersh'll have both our badges..." 

Suddenly he turns and looks at me, strangely sober for a second. "I'll think about it... promise..." 

Then he slumps into his partner's embrace and they are gone. 

I look back at the picture. "Hope he tells her before it's too late, babe..." 

Then I walk over to the jukebox, put on her favourite song and go back behind the bar to pour us both a drink. 

'Cause no one lives forever. 

And no one should be alone when they've got a choice. 

************** 


End file.
